Survivor Guilt
by thelastingsacrifice
Summary: No matter how hard he ran, or how hard he fought, he was always too late.
1. Safety's Regrets

Just because there was only the slimmest chance of winning the battle in the morning, Germany was sitting at his desk, eyes roaming over document after document. Each time he read it though, a deeper and deeper despair seemed to settle deep within in his ragged soul. There were just too many troops: they didn't stand a chance.

Drawing in a defeated sigh, Germany set down the confidential document he had been attempting to read for the past five minutes, staring blankly down at his desk, watching as his fingers twined together. This was a hopeless fight, but he couldn't run from it. That would make him a coward. He refused to be seen as a coward. He was strong, he was strong!

Strength though…abruptly his mind turned toward the red headed Italian who lived with him these days. The one who was happier to fly the white flag and make pasta rather than prove to the world his country was something worth remembering. What was he doing, dragging the Italian into another battle? He could lose him in a fight, especially if Italy couldn't outrun the people! Was he _trying_ to get the sweet red head killed?

Horror glinted in the blue depths of Germany's eyes now, and he brought a hand up to smooth his slicked back blonde hair in a distressed manner. What was he doing? He couldn't live with himself if the Italian died! Especially if it was his fault…if he killed Italy because he was too proud to retreat…he wouldn't be able to deal with that. It would only prove to him that he was nothing more than a monster.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Germany gave a slight shudder, unable to get the image of a cold and lifeless Italy out of his head. Holding his head in his hands, Germany slowly shook his head, fingers gripping his hair desperately. No…there was no way that could happen. He had to protect Italy from that. He had to…

_He had to drive him away._

The thought was like a lead ball falling into the pit of his stomach. Already he could see the tears (oh he hated those tears) that would stream down Italy's normally sunny face. He would hurt the other man so much, driving him away. He couldn't even tell him why he was doing it. It would confuse the other man, and because of that, Germany felt absolutely horrible. If he had just avoided this fight, he wouldn't be hurting the person he cared about so much.

_Maybe it was better off this way though…_ a thought whispered in the back of his mind. Straightening his stance, Germany blinked rapidly, hands dropping from his hair, and back onto his neatly organized desk. It hurt to think that, but as he stared at the door, he couldn't help but find himself nodding slowly. He knew that he was a monstrous being, all the other countries (aside from Japan and Italy anyway) had made that point _very_ clear to him. He only hurt the ones he loved in the end, which was why he worked so hard all the time. He couldn't let himself get attached to anyone.

And if he drove Italy away, then he would never be able to hurt the red head again. Italy would be free to…to find a new lover. Oh Gott, those words seemed to rip his already fragile heart into shreds, but he couldn't help but see the wisdom in those words. Italy had kept himself chained to Germany for too long, staying beside him through thick and thin. He had never left…Germany had never given him a chance. Drawing in a deep breath, Germany straightened his shoulders now, eyes hardening. He wouldn't be the death of Italy, he wouldn't carry that blood on his hands too. He would hurt the other man, badly, but he would set him free. It didn't matter what would happen to him, Italy would be free, and safe.

Glancing at the clock, Germany let out a soft curse, quickly turning his attention back to the papers in front of him. He had spent too much time dallying in his own thoughts, now he was never going to catch up! Quickly picking up a document he had read and reread several times today, he scanned it with an effectiveness that spoke of many wars past. Germany focused on the papers, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on what he had decided.

"Germany! You should stop working so hard and come play with me! You've been in here forever! Oh, I know, we can go for a walk! Walks are fun and they let you see all sorts of fun things! Come on Germany, take a walk with me, we could even go out to eat!" The rapid voice was the only warning Germany had, before he found Italy settled contently in his lap, looking up at him with that continuously happy expression, just about vibrating with excitement. There was such warmth in those eyes, such happiness…Germany felt like he was going to be sick.

Closing his eyes, counting to ten before he responded, Germany opened those (now cold) blue eyes of his once again, staring down at the Italian, a scowl overtaking his expression. "No, Italy. I don't want to go for a walk with you, and I am not going to play with you," Germany growled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, though his heart was aching to agree with Italy and actually get out of the office. "I don't want to go get something to eat with you either. I have more important things to do than go out and satisfy your whims. I am in the middle of a battle." Each word was very clear, his tone clipped, as though he was angry with the red head.

"Oh! I'll just make something then! Pasta and Wurst!" Italy said happily, though his expression wasn't as bright as it had been. He seemed to be confused, especially with why Germany wasn't hugging him. "I mean, I don't see how you can eat that disgusting Wurst, but you like it so I'll make sure to cook it for you with pasta! Since pasta is a staple of life!" Italy concluded, bobbing his head excitedly.

"No, Italy," Germany snapped out, unable to handle that confused look. "You can't do anything for me. Don't you understand," This was going to hurt the both of them, but for the sheer sake of keeping Italy safe, Germany continued, "the reason I won't be able to win this battle is because of _you. _All you ever do is run away and cook pasta, you're a worthless ally. I've put up with it for too long and now I'm telling you to get out. I can't deal with you any longer. I run around saving your butt from every little thing, and I'm done. We're over, Italy." Germany growled, forcing himself to meet the other man's eyes.

For a few moments, there was only the tick of a clock on the wall to break the silence, as Italy stared at him with wide, pain filled eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Not the tears that he always cried: these were _real_ tears. Tears that were filled with an anguish that couldn't be expressed in words, sending silent daggers into Germany's heart, shattering what had been left of it. "I-I'm sorry Germany!" Italy abruptly sobbed, scampering off of Germany's lap, bolting toward the door. "I never meant to burden you I just wanted to make you happy and make you pasta and be your best friend and person you could rely upon emotionally but it seems I failed and I'm worthless! I'm so sorry Germany! I'm sorry!" Italy sobbed as he ran out the door, fleeing from the man he had given his heart to.

Staring at the now open door, Germany heard the slam of his front door shutting. For a moment, it seemed all he could do was _stare_ at where the Italian had been, those innocent words ringing in his ears. It became clear to him then, that Italy didn't care if he won or lost his battles. That all he had wanted was to be with Germany, to be his friend, to be his lover. Nothing else mattered…and Germany had just thrown all of that away on some absurd notion that he would be keeping Italy safe by sending him away.

What the hell had he been thinking? Feeling the unfamiliar bite of tears threatening to overflow his eyes, Germany carefully sat down the papers he had been holding, making a slightly choked sound. Italy was upset and running now, there was no clue where the man would go. What sort of trouble he would get himself in. It seemed even when he was trying to keep the other man safe, he just sent him into even deeper peril. As long as Italy was alive though, that would make everything worth it. At least, that was what Germany told himself, trying to give reason to his mind.

Slowly, he sat his head down on his desk, not caring about the documents that had been so important minutes ago. Hot tears were streaming down his cheeks now, his shoulders shaking slightly. "This was for the better. It is for his good. He's safer now. He won't be killed because of me now. He'll be okay," Germany whispered in a rather broken tone, as his fingers dug into the papers surrounding him.

He wasn't sure how long it was before the hot tears stopped falling down his face and a curious numb feeling enveloped him. For a moment, he considered looking up at the time, but before he could even raise his head, darkness overtook him, as much needed sleep claimed Germany. Even sleep though, refused to provide solace for the large man, as images of dead and dying Italy filled his mind.

All the dreams were different, but there was one thing in them, that seemed to be the main theme…

No matter how hard he ran, or how hard he fought, he was always _too late. _


	2. It's Too Late

He was at his end: he couldn't fight much longer. Breathing raggedly, Germany threw himself behind the first shelter he could find, brushing a few strands of his hair out of his eyes impatiently, slamming a new magazine into his gun. The relentless sound of gunfire was music to his ears though, and despite his obvious exhaustion, he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face for a few fleeting heartbeats. The battlefield was his element; this was the fighting he could understand. The fighting he was familiar with and could win, unlike when he tried to fight emotionally. Having regained his breath, Germany quickly peered from the bunker, quickly emptying his magazine, the bitter smell of blood and death scenting the air while the screams of the wounded and the dying mingled with the sound of gunfire to create a melody for nightmares. Reloading, Germany slammed back against the unmovable wall: this was his last clip. His soldiers couldn't fight much longer. This was going to be his last stand in this fight, but for the first time, Germany wasn't bothered by the fact he was about to be defeated.

The fact he was about to lose only proved that what he had done last night had been the right thing to do, he had done the right thing making Italy run away. Now that he was no longer an ally, he wouldn't be dragged into this war! He wasn't in any sort of danger anymore! Nodding to himself, Germany dashed out from behind his bunker, firing off a few shots as he threw himself to the ground in a different location, panting. Those few irritating strands were back in his face, but for the moment Germany paid no attention to them. He didn't have much left; it was time to go out with a bang. Reaching down, the large man picked up a sleek black grenade, firmly grasping the pin.

"They're retreating!" A voice called out all of a sudden. Tired blue eyes widening, Germany flattened himself back against the bunker, certain of a sneak attack. All around him though, his troops were echoing those words. Putting the grenade back, Germany drew in a deep breath, and quickly peered over his bunker, eyes widening when he saw _the retreating backs _of his enemy. Their guns had been thrown down; in fact, they seemed to be _terrified_ of something!

What the hell was going on? He had been about to surrender, they had had victory in their grasp, what were they running from? Gritting his teeth in confusion, Germany quickly ducked back down, vigilant gaze scanning for any sort of sniper: perhaps this was some sort of ruse? To get him to drop his guard so they could take him out like a coward? A careful scan revealed no snipers though, or any other sort of hidden attack. It seemed they really were retreating for some reason! Scowling now, Germany stood up, his troops gathering around him, ready for their next order (and looking as confused as he was).

"We have gained a great victory today," Germany said, looking at their sweaty, tired faces, "and now it is time to collect our fallen comrades and go home with pride on our shoulders and experience on our backs." Nodding his head, Germany snagged another magazine from one of the younger shoulders, before turning away from them, walking into the blood stained battleground. All around him, he could see men who had lost their lives, from his side as well as his opponent's. Looking at the field of death, he couldn't help but remember that everyone was the same in death: there was no right side or wrong side. What was he looking for out here? Why wasn't he happier he had won?

Because he shouldn't have won, Germany thought with a slight nod, wiping away blood he could feel on his cheek, though he only managed to smear it further. He had gone over the battle reports several times; there had been no way he could have won. In fact, some part of him had been counting on losing, that way he could have justified his words to Italy the night before. He would have had a legitimate reason for sending him away. Now that he had won, it was as if he had done nothing more than make a giant ass out of himself. Maybe an apology was in order…

Yes. That was what he would do. He would go clean up, put on some nice clothes and a tie, get some flowers and find that pasta loving idiot. He would apologize to him, and then suggest that they go out to get something to eat now. And then he would explain why he had said those things the previous night. They would be okay, and maybe he would stop having those nightmares. Smiling ever so faintly, brushing those pesky strands away again, Germany scanned the battlegrounds with eyes filled with hope: he could fix this!

Humming some old song, a frown suddenly took over the smile. There was another soldier out there it seemed, someone from the other side. No, wait, now there were two of them! Quickly flipping his gun off of safety, Germany hid behind a tree, pressing his back against it, working to silence his breathing.

"I want to thank you, Italy, for telling me all of this," the first voice said.

"Oh it is no problem! I don't mind at all and I was glad to be able to help you! I'm not very good at helping people…at least, that is what I've been told." An achingly familiar voice responded cheerily. Eyes widening, Germany peeked out from behind the tree, forcing his hands to stop shaking. The first speaker was obviously the general. The second was…the second was…

_Italy. _He had betrayed him. He was giving information to the enemy! Eyes widening in horror, Germany quickly returned to being pressed against the tree, biting back the choked sound that was fighting to escape him. He had _trusted_ Italy! He had thought the other man was his _friend! _And this is what happened! The second things went downhill; Italy ran to someone else and spilled everything he knew! How _dare_ that spineless coward do this?

Eyes flashing in anger, Germany held his position until he could no longer hear the crunch of boots stepping on grass, before he detached himself from the tree. "I trusted you, Italy," he growled, "and this is how you repay my years of saving your pathetic ass time and time again." His only audience was the bodies of the fallen, and they didn't answer him. For a moment, an almost eerie silence seemed to settle over the field, before Germany promptly turned and walked off, all romantic notions gone. He didn't care anymore; he had no reason to try to make up with the red-head. The other man had made his loyalty quite clear; he would accept it and move on. No matter how hard the Italian begged to come back.

He had been so _stupid_, thinking he could trust anyone with his heart. Hadn't Bruder told him more than once that love was for the weak? Why hadn't he listened to him? He had been right all along! There was no point for love; all it did was screw you over! The fact he had just won this war was lost upon Germany. All he could focus on was the fact Italy had been wearing the clothes of the other side, that he had been _friendly_ with the general! That two faced double crossing…

Abruptly turning, Germany slammed his fist into the nearest tree, shoulders shaking, tears threatening to escape him once again. That damned Italian, making him cry again. He wasn't worth the tears. He wasn't worth it! Why couldn't his worthless heart accept that the red-head wasn't worth crying over? He found that he couldn't stop those tears though any more than he could stop the sun from shinning though, no matter what he told himself. Drawing in a shaky breath, Germany closed his eyes, lightly banging his head against the trunk of the tree.

Why had he allowed himself to become so attached to the other man? When had he given Italy this much power over his emotions? Had it been when he had first smiled at the Italian when he had thought nobody had been looking? Or maybe when he had been soothing the other man from some sort of completely unreasonable nightmare, feeling like a knight in shining armor when the other had fallen asleep in his arms? Somewhere along the lines it seemed he had given his heart to the other man.

And now he had just had it thrown back in his face. Slowly pushing himself off the tree, Germany quickly scrubbed the tears away, throwing his shoulders back, eyes hardening. It seemed he had won the war, but he had lost the person he had given his heart to. _Was the battle really worth it? _Some voice whispered in his mind, before he forcibly gagged it and threw it into the closet.

Drawing one more shaky breath, Germany set off toward home, not allowing himself to tremble. He had always operated best on his own anyway. Now he didn't have anyone to distract him from important paperwork. He could get more done. Yes, this would be a good change. He had been getting too close to Italy; he had been goofing off for far too long. Now he would finally be able to do something other than babysit.

Unlocking his door, Germany quickly stripped out of his torn and bloody clothes, stepping in to take a quick shower, scrubbing ruthlessly at his hair. After he finished his shower, he was going to get a beer (or two) and then he was going to finish his paperwork in peace. And after he finished his paperwork, he was going to sit down with a book, and actually read without having to worry about his kitchen catching on fire. It would be _wonderful _and he would _enjoy it._ Stepping back under the water, Germany rinsed the suds from his body and out of his hair, before stepping out of the shower, turning it off. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom. Getting his clothes on, a fit of rebellion coursed through the large man, resulting on him settling on a tank top and sweats instead of his usual crisp uniform.

Leaving his hair un-slicked for the moment, Germany was in the middle of walking to his fridge for that beer when he heard the knock on his door. For a fleeting moment, his heart thudded painfully in his chest, and a blind hope that it was Italy flashed in his mind before he could regain his reason. There was no reason for it to be Italy, and if it was, he wouldn't be forgiving him. So he needed to stop these thoughts right now.

Walking over to the door (and suddenly feeling very bad about his appearance), Germany opened it; eyes widening when he saw it actually _was _Italy standing on his doorstep. He slammed the door shut before the other man could even say hello.

He heard a surprised sound come from outside, before his door was knocked on again. "Germany~~! I don't care if you have your hair down! I think it is really cute, actually! You look adorable in what you're wearing, please let me in!" Italy sung, and Germany could hear the smile in his voice. Scowling, Germany opened the door once more, blue eyes cold as he glared at the Italian, refusing to let him into the house. "Vee, Germany, you're in the way!" Italy protested as he ran into the large man.

"Get off of my property, you traitor," Germany growled, not caring that _technically_ Italy hadn't betrayed him in any manner. He was sick of thinking technically, and besides, he doubted Italy even knew the difference. "I saw you with the General today. You filthy Italian, running to the person who you thought would win. How dare you spill things I told you in confidence? I can't believe yo—"

"Germany! Wait! Let me explain, please!" Italy begged, tears jumping up into his eyes. "I didn't do anything Germany! I would never do anything like that to Germany! I…I love Germany! Please don't throw me out again!" The other man begged, before grasping the side of the door with a faint gasp.

Abruptly, Germany looked over the smaller man. All of a sudden, his eyes widened, fear jumping from their depths. "Italy…you're…" For a moment, he couldn't form the sentence: all he could do was stare.

"Italy, you're _bleeding." _Germany whispered, unable to rip his attention away from the rapidly growing red stain.


	3. Exitus  END

This was bad…this was so, so bad.

The red stain was steadily growing. With each tick of the clock in the other room, with each heartbeat, he watched the stain inch along Italy's torso. Ripping his attention up from the blood, Germany could feel the blood drain from his face as he caught sight of the normally lively Italian's face.

It was as white as a corpse; every ounce of color (of life) was gone. He had seen people this white before. Their bodies had been mangled though, with shattered bones and bullet holes riddling them. They hadn't been alive, though those who hadn't closed their eyes…he had seen the absolute agony in their eyes. Was Italy in pain? It was a stupid question to ask, what, did he suddenly turn into an imbecile? Italy was _bleeding_; of course he was in pain!

"Vehhh~? Well, I guess I am!" Italy said cheerily, glancing down at the red stain blossoming across his torso. He gave a shrug, but couldn't bite back the small whimper when he moved. Even the smallest movement, Germany saw, seemed to be causing him pain. "Anyway Germanyyy, can I come in now~? I just thought of some pasta you might like~! I'll even add your wurst into it!" Italy beamed at him, though his normally cheery voice was quieter…strained.

"J-ja," Germany whispered, stepping back and out of the doorway, mentally running over every bit of first aid he had in this house. Why hadn't he noticed this earlier? Why had he been so bullheaded and decided to slam the door? It was his fault Italy had gotten hurt! He had sent the Italian away, hadn't he _thought_ about how the other man might react? He didn't know what had happened earlier today, but right now, the thought of Italy…of him losing Italy…oh Gott, he was going to be sick. "No pasta right now though. First you're going to explain to me what happened. And I will bandage you up," after a moment Germany added gruffly, "and decide if I should toss you out of my house or not."

Making a disgruntled expression, Italy pushed himself off of the beam he was using for support. He got a step, before the smaller man swayed, and fell into Germany. "O-oh, I'm sorry Germany!" Italy mumbled into his chest, making a weak attempt to get off of the other man, and only sliding down further, a soft pained sound coming from him.

Eyes widening in alarm, Germany gently picked up the smaller man, striding over to the couch and laying him down; cutting the shirt off. "Italy, talk to me, what did you do to get yourself hurt like this?" Germany asked, trying to give Italy something to focus on. The other man had somehow lost even _more_ color, and the wound wouldn't stop bleeding. Hell, Germany couldn't even tell where the wound _began_, or if there was more than one!

"Well, beh, I don't know exactly where to start! I guess it was after I was done thinking about what you had said~. Those words made me sad, but I figured out they were true!" Italy took on a horrified expression now, small tears budding up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry I've been so worthless Germany! I'm sure you would have won more fights without me! Anyways though, yeah, after that I decided to become the best ally to you! And I knew that you didn't think you were going to win that fight! So I decided to help you!" Nodding eagerly, a soft whimper escaped Italy when Germany pressed down on the wound.

"Keep going, Italy. I want to know what happened," Germany muttered, his frightened blue eyes focused on patching up Italy. He could fix this. He was brother of the (self-proclaimed) awesome Prussia. That meant he had to have some awesome in him. And he was going to use that awesome to save Italy! He could not fail in this task; this wasn't going to become just like his nightmares.

"Well! It turned out that Mr. Big Hat was more than willing to take me in! I told him about what you had said, and he told me I needed to get revenge for those hurtful words and tell him what I knew about you! Your weak points, your flaws and your strengths, that sort of thing!" Abruptly Italy gave a slight giggle. "I learned there were some strengths and weaknesses he didn't want to know though! In fact he turned this amazing shade of green! Like a pepper!" Harsh coughing escaped Italy now, a grimace flashing across his face.

"So I told him! Only, I think I mixed some things up! But that didn't matter because I had a plan! Veh! It was an excellent plan too! You see, when they were all eating, I put some stuff in their food that Russia gave me!" Another laugh escaped the Italian now, before he seemed to forget about what he had been talking about.

"Russia gave you something? Wait, never mind, that isn't important now," Ludwig said with a sigh. In all honesty, the large man wasn't paying that much attention to Italy's story, a different horror was unfolding in front of him. He had finally gotten the wound cleaned up, but under the blood was something even scarier. Just looking at the wound…no, he wasn't going to go down that road. He could fix this, and he was going to fix this. "Continue your story, Italy." Germany ordered when a moment of silence stretched on, each tick of the clock agitating him. Time was running out, damn it, why wasn't he ever good enough? Why did he have to go and mess up all the time!

"Oh! So yeah! And then I told them all sorts of scary stories about you! I told Mr. Big Hat too! And then he turned this funny white color and puked. I was so worried about you during the battle! I wouldn't be able to stand it if you got hurt. Nu-uh! I knew the big and scary Germany couldn't get hurt though! And then I told Mr. Big Hat about that. And he drank a lot of wine! After that he threw up. And then his soldiers were all throwing up and they left!" Italy was beaming like an idiot at this point: he had lost all sensation of pain.

_Shit shit shit. If he's lost sensation of pain…_

Abruptly, Germany leaned forward and put his lips to the Italian's. Desperation tinged his kiss as he sought to find a way to bring back some sort of feeling to the Italian. A surprised squeak could be heard, before he felt warm lips against his. For a few heated moments, Germany just sat there like that, kissing his love. He had been so foolish, thinking that he could protect him, when the safest place for Italy was right by his side. Where he could watch him at all costs, that was where he belonged.

Ever so slowly, Germany pulled back from Italy, blue eyes meeting golden for a few moments. A smile was playing on Italy's pale face, and he seemed…he seemed happy. "Did I do well, Germany? Did I help you?" He whispered, eyes searching Germany's blue almost fervently.

Fighting back a choked sound, Germany gave a nod. "Yeah, Italy, you did better than you ever could have imagined." Germany whispered. The bandages were red again. Drawing in a breath that was borderline shaky, he gave the Italian a soft smile.

"Hey Germany," Italy said blearily.

"Yes, Italy?" Germany asked, pulling the other man up so he was lightly embraced in his arms, clinging to him slightly.

"Can we make pasta tomorrow?" Italy's words were gradually getting harder and harder to understand, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to stay awake. "I'm really sleepy right now. Do you think I could sleep?" He asked, no, pleaded.

"One thing Italy," Germany murmured, "how did you get hurt?"

"Oh. Well, Mr. Big Hat figured out that I was a traitor. So then he attacked me. He only hit me once before…I got away though…it really hurt, Germany." A whimper escaped the other man as he buried his face into Germany's side. "I had to come back though. I had to make sure you weren't going to be mad at me anymore….Germany? Can I sleep now?"

Nodding his head ever so slightly, Germany gently rubbed Italy's back. "Yes, Italy, you can sleep." There was a moment of hesitation before Germany continued. This was going to be the last time he would ever be able to say these words to him. He wasn't going to…going to…let him die without hearing this. "Italy, ich liebe dich."

A smile graced Italy's face now, and a soft sigh escaped him as he settled into Germany's side. "Ti amo, Germany," the Italian whispered before there was silence. Not even the ticking of a clock could be heard.

Just like that, it was over. Anguish tore through Germany, as sobs seemed to tear him apart from the inside out. Hot, burning tears slid down his cheeks as he desperately clung to Italy. In a choked voice, he whispered 'I'm so sorry' over and over again, rocking the lifeless body back and forth. He was alone. And it was his fault. If he hadn't been so stubborn…if he had only acted differently…none of this wouldn't have happened.

And for the second time that day, Germany wept.


End file.
